Home for the Holidays
by Shiba Ayame
Summary: That Yule I spent with you was so wonderful, none of the others after it could ever compare. Zerith, holiday fic. Oneshot.


I haven't written anything Zerith since "Edge Street Strip Mall", so I figured I'd beat the holiday fanfic rush by cranking one out early. My goal is to write a Holiday fic for every major ship I write, and post it as soon as I can.

Warnings: Story spans from Crisis Core-era to post-AC. Roundabout... oh, five x-mases? I write Aerith's name as just that, not "Aeris."

Disclaimer: FF7 is property of Squeenix, and I can't claim much besides my AC Cloud costume, which is soon being given to a friend and will be replaced by Aerith.

Home for the Holidays  
Oneshot

lolololololol

In Midgar it was still warm when the calendar heralded the arrival of December. Even if it were to snow, none of the fabled beautiful white fluff could have fallen beneath the plate. It didn't bother me much, though, because the warm weather was comfortable and kept the flowers growing.

It's times like these in which I felt the people of the slums were actually better off than those above the plate. Sure, living conditions were far lower than "normal" human standards, far from the best. But having a thick plate of metal above your head did provide shelter, and it was better than getting hypothermia out in the cold.

Down there, in my hometown of Sector Five, the 21st day of December carries no significant meaning. Mother and I try to exchange trinkets, but the others call us foolish. To them, Yule was an urban legend, a myth, a tall tale based on the Winter Solstice - even though we couldn't have seen the moon that night anyway. Some of the older ones have their own stories, explanations from other sides of the world, but universally the voices of the Planet were jubilant, proclaiming some sort of celebration, which I later learned to be the Yuletide festivities. From them I learned what they called "holiday tidings."

I remember, at first, you were suprised about the differences between the two sides of the plate. Sometimes, when you discovered we didn't have something that was "crucial" to life up above, your face contorted into the most amusing perplexed look I'd ever seen. You'd asked me, "What kind of a rock do you live under, anyway?" with that goofy smile of yours. It's not a rock I live under, Zack, I'd say right back, smiling. It's metal, and it's called the "upper plate". We'd laugh, and the subject would change.

But I remember clearly that first Yule together, when you'd come down bearing a gift, the satisfied grin plastered on your face. I remember meeting you in the park that day, hiding a wrapped box behind my hip, handing my gift to you before you had the chance to give me yours. You looked suprised, and you must've thought that Yule was an upper-plate tradition, how would I have known about it? But we smiled, and laughed, and the pressed pink carnation I'd given you immediately found its home in your wallet; the IOU for a night on the town above the plate was safely stashed in my dresser drawer after you'd kissed me goodnight.

I don't know what became of the pressed flower; I'd seen you tuck it into your wallet, safely planted next to your gil. That was the last I saw it.

The next Yule, I was alone. It was the first time I'd spend the whole night in the church, hoping that somehow, tonight would be different and you would come back. I sat there, hoping, praying. I ignored the voices and their sentiments inside my head; sympathy means nothing unless for a just cause, right? At that point, I wouldn't have called you a "just cause" yet.

By the time the Planet cried for you, I'd stopped celebrating holidays. I couldn't believe you were gone, it was impossible - I refused to believe it with everything I knew - it just couldn't happen. I spent that night sleeping in the church too, curled up in a pew, holding onto the faded silver box I'd intended ti give you for Yule.

After that night had passed, it was only day after monotonous day. There was no sense of time, only day in, day out. Everything appeared so monochrome, so boring, until another purple-clad body came crashing through the hole in the roof, the one I'd neglected to patch up. Was it because I was afraid of heights or because I was hoping you'd come back the same way you'd come to me in the first place, I don't know. My mind whirred when I saw that indigo uniform, my hopes getting up to the point where they might soar away any second now, my heart hammering as if to burst from my chest.

If you were truly gone, if you'd joined the ranks of the chorus of voices of the Planet, you would've been able to hear my world halt its turning, see my crestfallen face when I spotted that head of spiked blonde hair.

Granted, Cloud became a good friend and a decent bodyguard. I kept telling myself that I was with him because he was nice, because I had friends, adventures, a new life through him, because he'd saved me from the slums, from the Turks, from myself; yet no matter how many times I'd whispered it to myself in the mirror each morning and night, the voices always said otherwise. I wasn't in love with Cloud Strife; I was in love with your reflection in him.

When my travels with the group (and on my own, when the voices led me) had brought me to the Forgotten Capital, I had almost convinced myself that when all was said and done, I loved him for him. Stepping into the ghastly city of the Cetra - the old hub of my own people - knocked down every lie I'd told myself. I could see clearer then than I had ever been able to see before. It was enlightening, yes, but the weight lifted from my shoulders and my conscience manifested itself into a sigh of relief. Finally, I knew.

The past two Yules I'd spent with Cloud were ones I'd truly spent with you in my heart.

I know my friends all worried for me on that day, but I hadn't felt any pain at all; Holy had finally been cast, a use finally found for the green-white lump of solid mako I'd recieved from my mother. The prospect of death hadn't scared me either, I felt nothing but calm. I had already resigned myself to my fate, the last contribution that I could have made alive was this. I had no regrets about it; the only regret was that I hadn't come to terms with the fact that you were gone until I was there, until I felt it completely. Knowing that I could meet you only helped to keep me calm.

Do you remember what it was like? That moment of almost-hallucination right afterwards, where you feel as if you're hovering over your own corpse? I'd bet some people would be suprised, some confused, but I was utterly happy. I felt as if I could fly to anywhere on a whim. I was liberated.

And then the flash, and then nothing - it's all a blur - and then, the next thing I know, I'm there, you're there, and the flowers smell sweet. Remember how the garden at the church seemed to come more alive and smell even prettier than usual on Yule? It was just like that, but all the time, every day. Maybe it was because we were in that expanse where time meant nothing, maybe it was because you were there.

It was then that I realized it wasn't me calling you home all these years; it was you, calling me. Every day would be just as happy as Yule.

lolololololol

Slightly morose, but I think it turned out OK. Not my best fic ever, but not the worst either. (Thank god the worst haven't ever seen the light of day!) And I hate this document editor thing... .

"Yule" is another name for the Winter Solstice, either celebrated on December 21st or the closest full moon. It's a lunar holiday, but today it's mostly only celebrated by pagan religions. I figured I'd go with a holiday with less overtly religious tones than Christmas. Nothing against Christians, but hey, consider this: how odd would it seem to you if the characters were all Jewish? Or if Barrett sat at a table with Marlene every December and celebrated Kwanzaa? (No offense to the people who practice those either! ^_^) I just figured I'd go with something more neutral and less commercialized.

Review? Review.


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